Sect Year 7 · first month · night of day 3 · the far shelf of the Reserve, and the water at its foot
Night came down over the Reserve without anyone noticing it arrive. The gallery lamp had become a small grey point far above the slope, and the lamp Pei held was the only light on the shelf. Pei turned the wick down by a thumb’s width to save the oil, and the light sank to a warm circle no bigger than a plate. Qiu Lian still had the warm weight against her breast. She wasn’t looking at it. She was looking at the water, the way a person looks at a door she has been told she may go through, and has not yet found the nerve to open.
Lin’s right hand was closed round the third Wheel. He hadn’t opened it since the founder gave it to him at the top of the slope. Now the bronze in his palm went still, stiller than it had been all day, and the Wheel spoke. It was the Wheel that had turned every life Lin had lent, and it hadn’t spoken since the stool-bed on the gallery. Its voice came from no particular direction, short and formal, and it didn’t wait for anyone to answer.
